


Alter-Egos Make for Awkward Saturdays

by arosynose



Series: every day getting closer to you [6]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 23:18:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arosynose/pseuds/arosynose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On this particular Saturday morning, Darcy finds herself watching her sort-of-boyfriend's alter-ego sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And it's only 8:30!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheGreatSporkWielder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatSporkWielder/gifts), [ladyemmaline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyemmaline/gifts), [Lallybroch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lallybroch/gifts).



> Dedicated to my lovely betas! Thanks so much, you three :)

This Banner guy looks cute when he sleeps. Way cuter than he had back at the Tower, and younger, too, probably because he no longer has huge bags under his eyes or worry lines set around his mouth and brow. He looks peaceful. And very, very puppy-ish.

The weird thing is, she can still see her Hulk. The giant green face she knows is there in bits and pieces, stretched out over softer, more normal proportions. And the hair is the same—well, nearly. If anything it’s gotten even floofier-looking, and the urge to comb her fingers through it is something Darcy has to consciously fight every second.

“I admit, when you told me about him I was expecting some thin-haired, pinch-faced guy with steepled fingers and an old black velvet suit,” Jane says, and Darcy turns to give her a pointed look. “What? You made him out to be this creepy guy lurking in the shadows, locking Hulk in cages. Memories of Vincent Price movies filled in the blanks.”

“Okay, wow,” Darcy says, eyebrows still flying high. “I’m not even sure how to respond to that. Congratulations.”

Jane grins, then goes wide-eyed and jumps, because there’s a rustling sound coming from the bed. Darcy’s head whips back around and for a second she seriously regrets not tying him up and keeping a frying pan around to threaten him, “Tangled” style.

The far-too-fluffy Dr. Banner is waking up, but slowly, and Darcy hates herself a little for enjoying the way his muscles stretch and shift under his skin during the process. Also, his yawn is unfairly adorable, but that seems about par for the course at this point. Darcy makes a mental note to start brainstorming cute nicknames, because this guy is in desperate need of one. Seriously, _Bruce_? That’s like having a teddy bear named Rambo.

“Good morning, starshine,” Darcy says, watching him closely. “The Earth says hello.”

Dr. Banner freezes at that, and his eyes fly open. Darcy tries and fails not to find his afraid and bewildered expression too endearing.

“You’ve been out for hours,” Darcy says, because after a minute or so of awkward silence and staring from the guy, she’s getting worried. “And you didn’t smash anything. Well, anything important, anyway.” Stark probably has to replace windows, like, bi-weekly anyway, so it’s totally not a big deal. “Your pants are in shreds, by the way, but I can lend you sweatpants or something.”

“Um,” he says, still staring at her, and fuck, she knows she kind of messed up by kicking him in the balls, but come _on._

“Sorry for booting you in the ‘nads yesterday,” Darcy says, because that needed airing out anyway.

“I, uh,” Dr. Banner says, blinking rapidly before falling back against the pillows and pulling a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m normally much more eloquent, sorry,” he says, and wow, his voice is actually kind of sweet. It’s like warm soup, or melty chocolate cake. Which is quite nice, actually. Darcy wouldn’t mind hearing more of that.

“You had a late night,” Darcy offers, and immediately regrets it because he turns to give her that _look_ , the look she knows very well from college—the _did-we-have-the-sex-together_ look. To his credit, Banner then defies expectation by bringing his hand back up to cover the top half of his face instead of looking down at her rack to try and remember if he’s seen it naked. 

“Oh, god, sorry,” he mutters. “That was—sorry. Really.” He takes a deep breath, exhales. “That was really, really out of line, and I’m really sorry.”

After a moment of heavily awkward _where-the-fuck-do-we-go-from-here_ silence, Jane ducks out of the room. Darcy forgives her, because she’d probably do the same. Third-wheeling is no fun, and Darcy knows this because recently Thor has taken to revisiting Earth, and coming to see Jane when he does so. Darcy has sat through far too many take-out dinners of Jane and Thor making googly eyes at each other across the table. Far too many.

“So,” Darcy says, because she’s starting to feel like a third wheel herself in this Banner/awkwardness/Darcy threeway, “do you ever remember stuff from when you’re Hulk?”

Banner’s lips draw into a thin line under the shade of his hand. “Not always. Bits and pieces filter through sometimes.”

“Hmm.” And, here’s a thought—“Do you ever see me?”

His hand drops, and his eyes are doing a weird melty thing to Darcy’s insides that she doesn’t think she likes. Or doesn’t think she should like. Either way. “Sometimes,” he says, quietly.

Darcy is confused, and also possibly very much turned on. That, combined with a prolonged silence, is enough to completely shut down her brain-mouth filters.

“We’ve got leftover waffles,” she says. “Lots of waffles. Big ones, with grid patterns on them. Also syrup. Lots of syrup. Thor loves syrup, so we always have like two gallons of it on hand. We even have different flavors, I think. Oh, and there’s Pop-Tarts, and I think we have cereal, and probably some kind of fruit because Jane likes to think we eat healthy food, and we might have granola bars or something because the only way to get Jane to eat something when she’s in the lab is if it’s in a shiny wrapper, and there’s orange juice in the fridge I think and also we might have that sample packet of instant granola lying around somewhere too.” 

Banner’s still staring at her, looking distant and intently focused at the same time.

“Or eggs.” 

“I’m a vegetarian,” he says.

“Okay,” Darcy says, squirreling that away as the first thing she knows about him. Well, the first thing she’s learned in person, anyway. Google is her friend, and it’s amazing how much you can learn in one night. Darcy realizes she would probably be considered a stalker in some circles for doing an extensive Google-search on a guy she doesn’t know, and chooses to give no fucks. She’s practically dating his alter-ego. That has to count for something.

“I’d like to take you up on that offer for sweatpants, now.”

“Okay.”


	2. waffles are fun except when charred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are waffles, and awkward conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, shoutout to TheGreatSporkWielder, who saved my bacon with a beta.
> 
> And sorry this has taken so long! I'm a lazy butt. Hopefully the next chapter won't take another eternity to write. In the mean time, enjoy.

By now, Bruce is used to having lucid dreams about his Dream Girl. And he’s pretty convinced that’s what that last Dream Girl occurrence had been.

Then he wakes up, and she’s still there.

He admittedly doesn’t handle this very well, but Dream Girl doesn’t seem as put-off as he’d feared she would be. Instead of looking at him like he’s the scum of the earth and kicking him out of her apartment, Darcy has given him her baggiest pair of sweatpants and most oversized sleep shirt to wear in lieu of his own shredded clothes. As he dresses himself, Darcy and Jane work on making waffles in the kitchen.

The sweatpants are wide enough, but far too short. Bruce wars with himself for a good few minutes before pushing them lower on his hips to maximize their potential length. It’s not like his waist won’t be covered by Darcy’s sleep shirt, anyway. He’s not being indecent in the least.

He is also certainly not having to fight the urge to imagine Darcy wearing these same clothes.

Nope. Definitely not.

He does, however, take the time to try to comb his hair into some semblance of normality (a losing battle) using Darcy’s mirror. It’s hung on the wall above her small dresser, the top of which is covered in make-up and nail polish and knick-knacks that he tries not to examine too closely. Being alone, in Dream Girl’s-- _Darcy’s_ \--room, is stiflingly intimate. This room, more than any other, is concentrated essence of Darcy, and if he snooped around Bruce could learn more about her than he’d ever thought possible. He won’t, of course, but the matter stands.

And then there’s the matter of him sleeping in her bed. Of her _willingly putting him in her bed_. Bruce rubs a hand over his face, tells himself it’s too early for him to be thinking about this, and takes a deep breath before venturing forth from Darcy’s room.

The first thing Bruce sees is Darcy, light shining through the window and onto her hair, and he takes such a sharp breath at the sight that he starts coughing. That catches Darcy’s attention, and he can hear her rush over as his eyes water and he continues to cough. His face is probably turning red now, too, which is just great, really.

When the coughing finally subsides, Darcy’s still there, hands raised halfway in a mid-fluttering gesture as she watches him with furrowed brows. “You okay, tiger?”

“I’m fine,” Bruce says too quickly, waving his hands placatingly. “Sorry. Air just went down the wrong pipe.”

Darcy nods slowly, still watching him. Bruce can’t look away, and for one long, long moment, they’re completely still, just staring and trying to piece each other together.

Then the smell of burning waffles reaches them, and Darcy spits a curse before bounding over to the stove, where Jane is fiddling hopelessly with the waffle iron. Bruce watches her go, helpless.

“I swear to Thor that if the apartment burns down you’re covering damage expenses,” Darcy mutters, so low that Bruce has to strain to hear her. She’s already unplugging the waffle iron and wrenching it open to scrape out the grisly remains of an irreparably charred waffle. The blackened bits don’t look like they’re going anywhere, and soon enough Darcy gives up.

“You had one job, Jane,” she grouses, and the look on her face makes Bruce’s mouth quirk up despite his best efforts at retaining his poker face.

“I’ll buy us a new one,” Jane says, looking cowed. Darcy rolls her eyes skyward and sighs.

“Well, we now have only two waffles,” Darcy says. “Which is not nearly enough waffley goodness per person.”

Jane opens her mouth slowly. “…Actually, if you don’t mind, I think I’m just going to grab a Pop-Tart and head to the lab.” Her eyes are flicking between Darcy and Bruce. “I’m getting close to a breakthrough.”

Darcy and Bruce fall totally silent as Jane grabs a shiny packet of toaster strudels and heads for the hills. After the front door of the apartment slams shut, the silence grows stifling. Bruce finds himself floundering, thinking back to all his dreams about Darcy and trying to formulate some kind of conversation topic based on them. All he can come up with is the Other Guy, and he’s not sure he wants to talk about that.

“So. Waffles?” Darcy asks, finally, eyes creeping up to meet his. Bruce nods, a stilted, jerky movement, and takes a seat at the small kitchen table. Darcy sets the table, plates and glasses clanking a little more than is probably normal—or maybe they just sound louder in the otherwise absolute quiet. 

“What d’you want to drink?” Darcy asks, and Bruce’s head snaps up from where he’s been examining the edge of his plate. “Water? Milk? Orange juice?”

“Orange juice, please.”

Darcy’s gaze lingers on him for half a second, and her mouth twists a little in what looks like amusement before she looks away.

“You know, it’s weird, how much you remind me of him,” Darcy says, suddenly, and Bruce freezes.

“Is it the green skin or the bulging muscles?” he says, carefully keeping his voice light while Darcy rummages through the fridge for the orange juice. She laughs, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

“It’s your…you, actually.” She moves to fill Bruce’s glass, and he leans back in his chair as much as possible. “Just little things, like your floofy hair or the shape of your eyes or the way you like sweets.” 

“What gave me away?”

She grins. “You poured an inhuman amount of syrup on your waffles. And added butter on top of that. And Hulk ate an entire tray of cookies. Well, almost an entire tray.”

Bruce is struck by the fondness written across her face. No matter how incomprehensible he finds it, she is genuinely attached to Hulk. She likes him, not as a hero but as a _person_. She has _memories_ with him, memories that Bruce can only share in an awkward third-party fashion through fragments and dreams. And the connection he feels with her, the one built up through months of pining over a girl who he thought existed only in fantasy, is built on nothing. He, Bruce Banner, has never met her before, save to get kneed in the crotch. But the Other Guy has shared meals with her, has taken her around New York City, has watched the sunset with her and shared long conversations.

Bruce’s Dream Girl is neither his nor a dream. She’s real and she’s the Hulk’s.

And Bruce isn’t sure he can deal with that.


	3. Getting to Know You, Getting to Know All About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy is not the best at avoiding awkward conversation. Or physical injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so dang long! School's kicking my butt, but I managed to eke this out, albeit very slowly.
> 
> Thanks so much to TheGreatSporkWielder for betaing!

Darcy is of the opinion that good food can make any situation better. And if this is how awkward breakfast with Bruce is, she can only imagine how a normal, foodless conversation with him will be-- _could_ be. Not that she doesn’t plan on sharing another meal with Bruce, or anything. It’s just that she’s not sure Bruce shares her eagerness in this endeavor. Hulk may enjoy her company, but so far Bruce is giving her pretty mixed signals. One minute, he’s joking with her, giving her tiny quirked-lip smiles, the next he’s talking in stilted sentence fragments. And all the while avoiding looking her in the eye.

Darcy’s been tip-toeing around the whole turning-into-Hulk issue—well, as much as Darcy can tip-toe around anything—but it seems like she’s exhausted every other topic of conversation, and Hulk is all she can think about. An awkward silence stretches as she desperately racks her brain for something else. _Anything else_.

‘Else’ is not forthcoming, this morning. And so Darcy Lewis cracks.

“Does it hurt?”

He meets her gaze then, bewildered. “Excuse me?”

“Does it hurt,” she says again, in a small voice. “You know, when you…” She gesticulates in vague arcs with her hands. “…change.”

Bruce stares at her for a while, before shaking himself and drawing away from the table. “The change itself doesn’t hurt, but the change usually only happens when I’m in danger, or already hurt. And afterwards, I’m just tired. And sore.”

Darcy nods. “And you don’t have any…injuries left over?”

“No,” he says, deflating somewhat. “The changes to and from both heal me. …Him. Us.”

Darcy’s head bobs slower this time, more thoughtfully, as she mulls over this new information. She’s in the middle of trying to think up a new, less tense conversation topic when Bruce breaks the silence for her.

“So how did you become roommates with Dr. Jane Foster?” he asks, both hands curled loosely around his glass of orange juice. “You two seem an…odd pair. No offense meant,” he rushes to say, but Darcy just shakes her head, smiling.

“We met way back in New Mexico,” she begins, and now it’s her turn to look away as Bruce gives her his full, undivided attention. “I was an undergrad student looking to fill some credits. Jane needed an assistant.” She shrugs. “I was the only applicant, and it didn’t matter too much that I was in political science instead of anything relevant to what Jane was doing. They only needed me for transportation, groceries, and filling out spreadsheets. The boring office-flunky stuff.” She smiles, remembering. “Jane didn’t always do such a great job putting up with me. We had some amazing 2 AM fights. In the end, though, I was the only one who knew exactly what kind of pop-tarts Jane liked, and when to interrupt her work to force her to eat and sleep like a normal human. So I got to stay. And here I am.”

Darcy spreads her arms wide, gesturing vaguely to the entirety of the situation—and maybe tipping back a little too far in her chair. She flounders for one long, suspended moment, and she has just enough time to see Bruce’s eyes flash green before she falls backwards the rest of the way and hits the ground, hard.

 

\---

 

When Darcy comes to, she’s being cradled in giant green arms, and a hand is running gently through her hair, carefully avoiding the giant lump on her head.

“Morning, beautiful,” Darcy mumbles, and the hand stills, tensing up along with the arms.

“ **Darcy hurt,** ” Hulk says, quieter than normal. He still sounds like an earthquake—just one further down the Richter scale.

“Darcy is hurt, yes,” she says. No kidding; she feels like shit. “I may have a concussion,” she adds, after going over a brief checklist of the corresponding symptoms. She has almost all of them.

Hulk makes an odd whining, groan-ish sound. Darcy tries to pat his arm, but misses her target on the first try. The world may or may not be spinning. And by ‘may or may not be’, Darcy means _definitely_. The world is most _definitely_ swimming around in front of her.

“ **Darcy need doctor.** ”

“You got that right, bucko,” Darcy says, limply slugging Hulk in the arm. She can’t be sure, but she _thinks_ he looks pretty unimpressed.

“ **Hulk get Darcy to doctor!** ”

“Hey, whoa, big guy. I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to move a concussed dude around too much.”

Hulk’s swirly face looks frowny. “ **What should Hulk do**?”

“Uh,” Darcy says, trying to think. Doctors, doctors, doctors—“Doctor Banner,” she says slowly. “Is he a medical doctor?”

Hulk grunts, somewhat disagreeably. “ **Banner fix people**.”

 _What people_ , Darcy wants to ask, but now is not the time. “Okay, that may be the fastest, safest option. Can you, um, turn over the reins? Pull the switcheroo? Put Banner back in the driver’s seat?” She rambles on until Hulk grunts again and sets her down on the floor, then starts shrinking in on himself, muscles softening and skin growing pinker until it’s Hulk’s moppier half that has his arms around her, staring like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

“So, you apparently are good at fixing people. And I have a concussion. I’m assuming you can handle this in a mature and sciencey way.”

Banner’s face straightens itself out, and his eyes start to scan her. “I can do a preliminary examination, but we should really call Tony. He can get some actual M.D.’s in here to take a better look.” He pulls out a sleek, brand-new phone and starts typing.

“Ah, right.” Darcy resists the urge to nod. “Tony Stark. Iron Man. Probably has like five doctors on permanent house call.”

“Eight, actually,” Banner says distantly, finishing the text he’s been typing out. “Tell me if this hurts.” His fingers are sliding through her hair, then, massaging her scalp, and it’s quite nice until

“— _OW,_ ” Darcy yells. “Hooooly crap, ok, wow. That’s definitely the spot.”

Bruce nods calmly. “Are you feeling drowsy?”

“Um, a little?”

He nods again. “Just focus on me. I’ll keep you awake until the doctors come.”

“You _are_ a doctor,” Darcy mutters.

“Not that kind,” Banner says. “They’ll be here in ten, twenty minutes. I’ll tell you a story until then.”

“That sounds nice.” She’s feeling more tired, now that the adrenaline has worn off, but her eyes stay open.

“What do you want to hear about?” He looks so soft in that moment, but so focused on her. Darcy can’t help herself.

“Tell me about you…before Hulk.”

Unexpectedly, his face clouds over. “I would rather not.”

“Then…New York. How you got involved in the alien invasion.”

His face is still grim, but Banner takes a deep breath, and starts talking.

“I was working as a doctor in Calcutta…”


End file.
